Battle Scars
by Zuraffo
Summary: The most terrible price of being a grey warden is the scar one has to endure from defeating the Archdemon.  Slashy-ish


**Battle Scar**

**Summary** : The most terrible price of being a grey warden is the scar one has to endure from defeating the Archdemon. (Slashy-ish)

**Disclaimer**: Any recognizable Characters mentioned in this story belonged to their respective owners.

**Author's Note**: If you can't figure out the configuration of PC from my writing, then I have failed terribly. In that case, kindly let me know in the form of a review. Otherwise, enjoy the story.

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><p>"Why would a mage give up all that cool mage robe and choose to don such dull metal?" was the question I asked him, only half-jokingly, that first day he walked up to me in a suit of heavy plates. A day I still remembered vividly as if it were just yesterday.<p>

"Oh, I don't know. There's just something so attractive about the idea of charging the enemy line with a sword in hand yelling at the top of your lungs... I don't know, it just seems so... manly." At which point, he winked at me, and we both laughed.

We had found something in the ruins where the werewolves and the white wolf Witherfang hid. Ancient elven magic, he told me. One that allowed ancient elven mages to take up arms and fight alongside warriors at the frontline instead of staying behind. I had joked about trying to put me out of a job, but instead of the usual banter, he just smiled at me. There's a warmth in his eyes I could not have understood then. Not until much later. Too late to matter.

It didn't really go well, in the beginning. The first time he had tried to put on the heavy plates, he could barely walked. All the warriors had a healthy laugh while he stumbled about the camp, his delicate elven frame buried beneath the unseemly bunch of walking steel. Even wynne couldn't suppress a chortle or two. I laughed along with the rest, yet I felt a sudden pang seizing my heart then. A feeling I attempted to explain away with the kinship of being grey wardens.

He had laughed with the rest, but persisted in practising the spells with the studied concentration I had always been slightly intimidated by; Wynne once commented that that level of focus he had achieved was the envy of many mages, and even Morrigan had to agree, begrudgingly. But, hey, what did a poor templar know about mages and their beguiling ways, eh?

But this spell had proven too difficult even for him. After all, he had only learnt the spells from the fragmented memory of an ancient spirit who had been trapped inside a phylactery for Maker knows how long. He had to make up for whatever was lacking with his own arcane knowledge. Which might have gone wrong, because whenever he worked the spell, he seemed more easily tired.

Yet, it sort of worked, eventually. That was the day he walked, in big strides, I might add, right up to me, in a suit of full plates, a big grin on his face, and asked, "How do I look?"

The plates still looked too big for him, but there was something about his stance that suggested he was actually WEARING those armor, instead of bearing those armor with his body.

Being my usual self, I had gripped my chest and faked an exaggerated swoon and then said something along the line of dashing knight in shining armor, except it wasn't all a joke: That was the first time I saw him really smile, without any reserve, since I met him in Ostagar. Mages have the tendency to be eccentric, or withdrawn, or self-possesed, but he more so than the others I have known. Even when he was talking to you about your feelings, even when he, with his quiet demeanour, managed to coax you into confiding in him, you could still feel him gently keeping you at arm's length. But that smile I witnessed that day was that of a child, innocuous and brimming with unadulterous happiness, a smile that could bring warmth to the weariest of hearts.

Sadly, that was also the last time I saw such happiness on his face.

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><p>Soon, the way we fought changed dramatically. We no longer had to worry about being fried when a fireball exploded on our enemy's head, nor worried about the bone splinters when the enemy exploded into a bloody mess. Instead, my fellow warden took up a sword and fought beside us, magical aura flowing from him like a fountain. There were less injuries as well, since the enemies took one look at the big walking ball of energy and all decided to jump at it, where they were met with heavy steel AND those magical shield mages put on themselves. Not many things could get pass that kind of protection.<p>

Sten was intrigued enough to challenge him into a duel, one of those nights on the road where everything was so peaceful that the constant danger of darkspawn and archdemon seemed surreal and far away. The duel was a stalemate, but we all knew that was because he didn't use any of the mage spells. After the duel, I noticed sten always fell one step behind him whenever we were traveling. The scenario would have been quite amusing had all of us not felt the same awe.

But nothing came without a price, and it's only after much later, at the Fort Drakon prison, to be precise, that I realized the price he had to pay, when he lay unconcious on the prison floor naked beside me.

Ugly scars covered his whole body, several long ones, and thousands of tiny ones. Some fading white with age, some new, raw and angry. Any common soldier would have died long before he could manage to accumulate that amount of scars: no normal human body could sustain that kind of ravage, not to mention an elven body. Granted, his is no longer the frail figure people usually associated with elves or magi, gaining bulk with the heavy armor he worn all the time, still, I have seen my fair share of veteran soldiers, and none of them had that amount of scars. At that moment, I hated the elven spirit for teaching him that spell.

"Sometimes I wonder what could have taken down those ancient elves, if their magi fought like this."

He was awake, and smiling at me, still lying on the floor.

"Are you alright?" I wasn't even sure what I was asking about. I guessed I just never realized how much damage he took at the frontline. "How can you sustain so much wound without any of us knowing about it? It must have been painful."

"Hey, I take offense at that," He rebuked weakly, with a warm smile, "I will have you know, that I am a full mage of the circle, and such injuries were only trivialities to me. In fact, I was appalled that you even suggest... ouch."

I had to laugh at that. I needed to believe what he said, unfortunately, his was a bravado I knew only too well. A joke to hide your own hurt, a joke to ease the mind of those around you. A joke that was meant to be responded with frivolity and not any hint of seriousness which could only result in awkwardness. And that was what I did, although I couldn't help but to wonder why, again. That was a question I would have no answer to, until long after he had made the ultimate sacrifice.

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><p>It was at the gate of the beseiged denerim, where he announced to us his intention of facing the archdemon alone.<p>

"What?" I almost yelled. Hurt, anger, fear, feeling betrayed, left behind, a vortex of emotions I could not even begin to name rushed over me.

He looked at me then, a forlorn smile playing at his lips. Yet his words do not match the gentle warmth emitting from his being.

"Alistair, grow some spine. We can't have the grey wardens of Ferelden dying all at once. You need to stay alive and rebuild the order."

"Then why don't you stay? What? Only you are deserving of the glory of defeating an archdemon?" Angry words poured forth from my mouth, hot and scathing, a fear of being left behind, again, did not betray.

He turned silent for a moment, and then strode right up to me, face only inches away from my own. Absently I noted how easy his strides had become, as if he had fought in those armour for his entire life. He reached out a hand, and roughly stroke my cheek, and how calloused that hand was.

"There is no glory in dying." Then a pregnant pause.

"I would have loved to stay by your side, Alistair."

Then, I felt a surge of energy from his hand, and before I realized what had happened, I was knocked out on the floor, barely choking out the words, "don't… leave me… alone…", before the view of his back pulled away from my receding sight. The last words from him, which I vaguely heard, and could never be sure if I really heard them, was:

"Don't ever, change, Alistair. And… Thank you."

When I came to, there wasn't much else to do beside charging into the fray of the battle. I unleashed my wrath upon the darkspawn, although I didn't really understand what I was angry with.

It was only after the funeral that I had a chance to put things into perspective, with the help from others.

We set up camp at the outskirt of the city, since much of it wasn't in any condition to live in anyway.

I sat by the fire, disbelief still clouding my mind. I keep glancing over the fire, and hope beyond hope that I might catch his elven form beyond the smoke.

Wynne approached and sat beside me, but did not speak, her presence a soothing comfort to my confused mind. I turned to look at her, and in her smiling eyes I saw wisdom, understanding and compassion. Surely she could help me, I thought to myself.

"Wynne, I…" and then my voice broke. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks, and an enormous grief rose from somewhere deep within my soul and floored me completely. I sobbed uncontrollably, my whole being nothing but one long, terrible wail.

"Why…" I choked between my sobs. "Duncan, and he, and… why…"

Wynne did not speak. She merely put her arms around me, and make soothing sounds as if she was comforting a child. At that moment, I didn't care. I cried into her comforting embrace without shame, as if I was determined to spent myself all the tears of my life.

It took a while for my tears to subside.

"You know, healing magic is one of those spells that requires more control than raw power." Wynne seemingly unrelated statement caught me totally off guard and my curiosity was spiked despite myself. Wynne obviously intended her words to achieve such effect because she looked at me with a satisfied, warm smile. And then she sighed.

"You see, went a healing spell go awry, it is not immediately noticeable, but the energy will remained in the body and sooner or later it will damage some of your muscle. The process of undoing such mistakes is most… unpleasant."

I still had no idea where the conversation was going, but she had my attention.

"There were nights where he would come to me, asking for my help to treat some of the wounds he healed wrong in the heat of battle. And that was when I realized how much pain he must have gone through, to bear so many scars." Wynne rubbed her eyes tiredly, and perhaps to hide her own tears.

"He never explained why he decided to take up arms and fight like a warrior, yet I think I understand." Wynne smiled fondly as she recalled a distant memory.

"It was after defeating the undead horde at redcliffe village, you remembered?"

Of course, how could I forget? That was one of the most brutal fights we went through.

"He asked me, after the battle, that wouldn't it be better for the mage to take the blow since we can work the healing magic so much faster on our own? I tried to point out that warriors are trained to take blow with their heavy armour, and there are some blows that a mage simply can't survive, and tried to convince him that it is best for magi and warriors to stick to their part. But he told me then, that 'it surely hurt the same'."

That was the most hare-brained reasoning I have ever heard. Beyond a doubt, and I would have loved to deride him for that, except… of course I couldn't. After a pause, Wynne continued,

"He might not have realized it, but he had his eyes trained on you when he spoke those words."

"So… what? He did this to protect me? Why does everyone thinks that I need…" A slow anger rose from the pit of my stomach, first Duncan, then him, all of them thought I was some kind of fragile thing in need of protection! But before I could finish my rant, a big owl swooped down from a nearby tree, and before it touched the ground, transformed into a furious Morrigan.

"Because you clearly need. To be protected, that is." There was scorn in her eyes, as well as a fury I could not name. "Just look at how are you behaving! Is this the way a grown man is supposed to carry himself? I swear, I have no idea what he saw in you."

"Morrigan, do not be unkind." Wynne interjected, brow furrowing. "We all need time to grief."

"Of course! Have I said anything to the contrary? My point is simply that our grieving shouldn't interfere with our ability to carry on! Surely you must know this, old woman, for all your uppity attitude, you have surely seen enough to understand my point."

"I do, yet people must be allowed time to…"

"Learn the lesson? And how long might that be, pray tell? How long are you planning to keep cosseting him while he weeps like a blubbering fool? I swear, you circle magi had perfected the art of overindulgent."

I was suddenly drained of all energy. Quietly, I spoke, in a subdued manner, "Morrigan, if you are trying to make a point, just say it."

She turned to me then, her eyes softened with a hint of pity I did not appreciate.

"The right to defend for something you hold dear is not a right that can be traded freely. It is a right you have to fight for. He chose to take the blow on your behalf, simply because he could, and there was no one strong enough to convince him otherwise. Had you more spine, it might have turned out differently."

"So I have failed him, is that your point?" I asked tiredly, trying to make sense out of the confusing barrage of words around me.

"No! This is infuriating. How can I make it in terms you can understand? You did not fail him. You failed yourself! Somewhere deep down in your soul, is the urge to protect that man, and yet you did not succeed, and that is the source of all your grief! To understand that is the lesson we are talking here. Can you not understand?"

Slowly, as if a light had pierced through a thick fog surrounding my mind, I started to see Morrigan's point. I thought back to the times when we first started our journey together, how I would unthinkingly throw myself before him to shield him from the enemy's blade. It seemed the right thing to do. Yet, as I came to think about it, I realized I was always more concern about his safety than others, like say, Morrigan, or even Wynne. Could it only be because he was the only other grey warden? Or were my feelings more… complicated?

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><p>I didn't know when I fell asleep, but when I awoke, I was in a small forest clearing, and he was standing before me, a sheepish grin softening his battle-hardened face.<p>

"I am sorry I beat you to it."

"What?" utterly confused, I sat up and looked around. This wasn't any place I knew.

"Oh, don't be alarmed. You are dreaming. I was allowed to say my farewell to you…"

"By the Maker…" I drew in a sharp breathe and jumped up.

"Quite right!" He said gaily and walked up to me.

I looked at him then, somewhere deep down inside of me starting to fill up.

"Are you… alright?" I bit back a curse at my own clumsy question.

"Aside from being dead? Couldn't be better." He laughed, a clear laughter I had never heard from him.

"Look, Morrigan doesn't understand the whole thing either… The truth is, we leave you behind, because we know you are strong enough to survive without us, while we might not."

He sighed.

"For all the healing magic in the world, there is one wound we cannot treat, that of the heart."

"Truth be told, I had hesitated. I didn't want to go all martyr on you after well, Duncan died on you. I saw what you went through and I didn't want you to go through it again. Yet, the thought of seeing you die… No, I couldn't. I will much rather take the scar of the mortal body than the scar of the heart. Will you ever forgive me?"

At that point, my heart was filled with an emotion I could not name.

"Never!" I said jokingly, revelling in the banter we used to have. "That was incredibly selfish of you. I will only consider forgiving you if you promise to meet me in my dream every so often!"

"Alas, that is the one thing I cannot do." He smiled, no doubt recalling the various banters we had during our times together. "I cannot remained less I risked becoming a malevolent spirit. This is the last time you'll see me, so don't be tricked by a desire demon in the future!" He laughed and continued, "I'll profess my undying love for you though, should you desire." He winked at me.

Was it just a joke? Regardless, I seized the opportunity, "I think I would love that!" I tried to sound casual, but I was really nervous.

He smiled then, and folded me into an embrace, and whispered into my ears, "Alistair, I love you, you never have to doubt that."

And then, I felt him melting away, his warmth contracting until it was only a small patch surrounding my heart. Those, I knew, would never go away.

I woke up with dried tears and a big smile on my face. Leliana walked pass and comment something about a sweet dream, and I grinned right back at her. His absence still caused a pang of grief in my heart, yet I knew then, those would be the scars I cherished.

Those scars were a testimony to a love born out of duty, yet went beyond duty, and a love I would return by simply, living.


End file.
